


Syunikiss

by hyzenthley



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, I have no idea what I'm doing but I hope you enjoy it, Slow Burn, au-ish, liberties taken with canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 13:56:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13215195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyzenthley/pseuds/hyzenthley
Summary: A former Templar who is trying to forget all he has suffered at the hands of magesA mage who loses control of her powers when she is overwhelmed by emotionsAnd all of the little moments between them as they battle a hole in the sky and a reborn dark god come to end the world----My first attempt at fanfic, written during NaNoWriMo 2017 alongside a very extensive playthrough of DA:I. Does the world need another Cullen x Magequisitor fic? Who knows. Canon-adjacent rather than canon-divergent.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> To the lord who dwells in the sky that granted my prayers  
> I make one more wish  
> Return to her, her heart  
> Malice Mizer - Syunikiss
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZmK5IbbNPEo

The emergence of Elizabeth Trevelyan’s magic was something of a joke in her family. It had become an amusing tale to be shared at family gatherings; _Lilibet was so against being married that she turned into a mage!_ _Remember the time when Lilibet froze an entire room?_

Perhaps it had been easier for them, to reduce the events into a light-hearted anecdote. As though what had happened had been of her choosing, an elaborate practical joke like the ones she and her brother had played as children. Much easier to digest than the reality.

Lilibet, polished and presented like a wrapped gift, her eighteenth name day just past, white faced and immobile in the centre of a quietly lapping puddle as the enormous jet of ice she had shot across the floor began to melt. Bann Carrington and his son looking on, horrified, while Bann Trevelyan, Lilibet’s father, spluttered as he desperately tried to diffuse the situation.

Then later, the Templars came. They were full of accusations, confused at how she could be coming into her magic as a woman grown. All but alleging her father had knowingly harboured an apostate, asking her again and again _How didn’t you know?_

She _had_ known. Deep down, she had known that the vivid dreams that had visited her since childhood were something more than simple imagination. The first morning when she had awoken, her room coated in frost like a Wintermarch field, she had been too terrified to even cry. She had mopped the puddles desperately with her tumbled blankets, then bundled the whole wet mess down into the servants’ quarters to hide in with the other soiled laundry.

There was no magic in the Trevelyan family, everyone knew that. They were a family of simple faith. Sons to the Templar Order, like her brother had been, daughters to a good marriage, or the Chantry. There was no cause for her to have these powers, no precedent.

And so, she hid her dreams and the occasionally messy aftermath. She refused to acknowledge their meaning. Eventually, she convinced herself that it was anything other than magic. She found if she held herself aloof, did not allow her emotions to fluctuate, then the power within her stayed mostly quiet.

At first, life in the Ostwick Circle of Magi had not seemed so bad. She hadn’t particularly wanted to marry Asher Carrington, with his blunt, assessing face and big hands. Asher Carrington who had peered at her over the table on Feast days like she was another dish being served up for his inspection.

She liked the Templars and the sedate, senior Mages.

She had seen her brother, Anulan, little since his posting to a small Circle in the Green Dales. She found being around the other members of the Order reminded her of him. The smell of Chantry incense, the familiar clank of their armour which sounded so like his, when he had come home on rare visits.

Ser Hamilton, the Templar who had escorted her to Ostwick, treated her kindly enough. So did Knight-Captain Aurum, who led the Order at the Circle. They were confused at how her magic had surfaced so late, but she was so numb and clearly frightened that they did not press too hard in search of subterfuge.

When Senior Enchanter Lydia sat beside her comfortingly as they cut her palm to make her phylactery, she felt bad for deceiving them. But to reveal the years she had spent squashing down the dreams, hiding her losses of control, would only bring the ire of the Order down onto her family.

She had cried for the first time then, when they took the blood, unable to stop, as if the years of emotions she had held back were suddenly released with that single cut. Lydia had squeezed her shoulder and shown her the way the spell made her blood swirl and dance within the enchanted glass.

‘See?’ she said gently, as Lilibet sniffled and wiped her eyes. ‘That’s magic. And now we will teach you.’

And for a moment, she had believed that she could do this. That perhaps, she could look towards her future with hope.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen Rutherford had made up his mind. He was her Commander, but he going to keep his distance. He couldn’t allow himself to notice her.

The Herald of Andrastae was watching him. She had brought her breakfast with her to the training yard, balancing the tin plate and a steaming mug of tea on her lap as she perched on an upturned crate. Cullen Rutherford had made up his mind. He was her Commander, but he going to keep his distance. He looked at her, long enough to note that her mouth was twitching into a lopsided, shy smile, before his gaze darted away.

He couldn’t allow himself to notice her. He didn’t want to get close to her, this woman they were calling the Herald. Some were calling it a miracle, how she alone had risen from the devastation at the Temple of Sacred Ashes which had left so many dead. The mark she bore, embedded in her hand like a glowing green anchor, which somehow allowed her to close the rifts that tore the sky and spewed forth demons, served to further set her apart as touched, chosen, something special. That specialness frightened him. In his experience, being marked out in such a way rarely led to anything good.

Cullen could feel her eyes on him as she watched the morning drills with fascination. One of the recruits floundered, and he wheeled on them.

‘Keep your shield up!’ his voice echoed out across the flat, icy ground that surrounded the muddy ring. ‘If that were a real enemy, you’d be dead!’

Perhaps it was just the wind, but he could almost imagine he heard the Herald stifle a giggle. He willed himself not to turn, not to look at her. She wasn’t intruding, and she was generally interested in all the workings of the town. There was no reason to suspect that she was singling him out with her interest. He had no reason to wonder what she would look like closer up, to speculate on the colour of her large, curious eyes.

 She was a mage, and he was a former Templar.

 He had wanted to leave all of that behind, had come here to help broker peace. When Cassandra came to him, in the aftermath of the Kirkwall mage rebellion, inviting him to join a Conclave formed by Divine Justinia, he had tried to refuse her offer. She would not hear of it. The Seeker had a spun-steel strength that awed him, and even her quickly flaring temper had a certain grace. She dismissed his objections tersely, brushing them aside with a smooth wave of her hand.

‘You don’t want me,’ he protested. He was so tired, and felt so hopelessly broken. ‘I’m leaving the Order. Surely there must be another…’

‘You are uniquely qualified,’ she replied, her delicate brows knitting together as she cut him off. ‘There’s no one else.’

‘Qualified how? Because I’ve seen the worst of both mages and Templars?’

‘We are all people,’ Cassandra said to him lightly, but there was something in her narrowed eyes that suggested she would not welcome further argument. ‘We need to look past things like mage and Templar, otherwise this fighting will drive us all into the ground.’

And he had agreed, in theory. From a distance, he was happy to encourage peace, or at least, the tenuous ceasefire that was the Conclave gathering. Kirkwall was a city of dust for him now, full of ghosts. As he crossed the Waking Sea, stomach churning in time with the waves, he had expected himself to feel lighter. But the heaviness that had been with him through Kirkwall—since long before Kirkwall, if he was honest—seemed to deepen the closer he got to Ferelden. Still, he tried to tell himself that it was better than the alternative, better than staying behind in an Order he could no longer belong to, scrubbing at the stains of Knight-Commander Meredith’s mistakes.

At the Conclave, he tried to stay impersonal. Never joining the other Templars, though many remembered him from his time in the Order. Never getting too close to the gathered mages, though he treated them kindly. Always deferential, maintaining a distance, polite, but not encouraging closeness. It should have been simple. Then the sky split open, and everything was reduced to ash. The Temple, the Divine, _everything_ , all gone, joining the Sacred Ashes for which the Temple had been named. When they pulled out the lone survivor, she seemed hopelessly ordinary. A freckly redhead in tattered Circle initiate robes. Aside from the anchor—which, admittedly, was a big _aside_ —there was nothing about her that he needed to be concerned with. Or so he tried to convince himself.

He had intended to maintain the same distance from the Herald as he did from the other mages. Stay back, drill the men, close this hole in the sky and then… well, he would think about that when the sky was no longer wrenching open above him.

They had been fighting desperately against the rifts that seemed to open one after another, blooming in the sky above Haven like terrible flowers. Fighting alongside him were Solas, the strange elven apostate who had appeared from seemingly nowhere, and Varic, the dwarf prisoner who Cassandra had hauled all the way over from Kirkwall. Between the magic and Varic’s handy crossbow, Cullen’s men had held the demons back, but they couldn’t keep it up forever.

Then she came, jogging up the slope behind Cassandra, wielding a crude wooden staff. Her bright red hair had come loose from its braid, and she had a smear of blackish mud on her cheek. She skidded to a halt beside them and, without hesitation, slammed the butt of her staff into the ground and froze the mass of demons solid in one swift movement. Everyone had paused for a breath, shocked, then Varic gave a cheer and shot a bolt right into the nearest fiend, shattering it into a thousand small chunks of ice. Cullen had gone back to fighting, cleaning up the frozen demons, trying not to think too much about her, to tell himself she was merely one of the many gathered mages from the survivors’ camp. But then Solas had grabbed her hand held it out. And a jet of bright green light had shot from her palm, and closed the rift. And everything changed.

She had finished her breakfast now, and was walking away as she sipped at the remnants of her tea. With the Herald gone, Cullen felt himself relax minutely, although she was still close enough that he could overhear her chatting with the Seeker. Cassandra had set up her own training area beside the recruits, and the Herald had stopped to help the Seeker set up some new training dummies. Considering her inauspicious beginning, where most of the survivors thought her personally responsible for the disaster at the Conclave, the Herald had developed an easy rapport with most of her companions. Even with Cassandra, who, Cullen was certain, had wanted to execute her on the sport when she tumbled out of the breach.

‘Do I really have to go to Val Royeaux?’ the Herald sighed as she held a dummy straight for Cassandra. ‘I’ll feel so… out of place.’

‘You’re from a noble family,’ she said. ‘Surely you won’t be too out of depth.’

‘Cassandra, I’m from the Free Marches. I’m sure they’ll be shocked that I’m wearing shoes.’

The Seeker grunted as she hefted a mallet, her clear disgust at the journey to Orlais and all it involved punctuated by the _thwack_ of the hammer against the wooden stake of the dummy.

‘We need to seek out the remnants of the Chantry, at least to establish some support for our endeavours,’ she said, although her tone was less than enthusiastic. ‘Hopefully if we show up and state our case, someone will see reason.’

They moved on to the next dummy, and Cullen turned back to flick through a requisitions order, trying very hard to pretend he wasn’t straining to listen.

‘Reason would be nice,’ the Herald’s voice floated back on the chill morning breeze. ‘There’s an enormous hole in the sky, yet everyone is still pettily arguing about everything else. It’s ridiculous.’

Cassandra grunted again, the mallet gave another _thwack_ , and Cullen was mercifully interrupted by a scout wanting to deliver a stack of reports. He took the papers so swiftly that they crumpled against his armour, and stomped back over to his tent, his boots crunching on the muddy snow.

* * *

The Seeker was much too sharp-eyed. Between her and the Spymistress, Cullen was sure that nothing in Haven went unnoticed. She poked her head into the tent where he was still bent over the piled paperwork, observing him with one delicately arched brow.

‘What?’ he said finally, when she didn’t speak. She slid smoothly into the tent, moving with more grace than one would expect from someone fully armoured.

‘You’re going to have to speak to her eventually, you know,’ she said, her mouth twitching in amusement.

‘I’m not avoiding her,’ Cullen said. He could feel his face getting hot and rustled around in the stack of reports.

‘The occasional polite nod doesn’t count. You’re the Commander of the Haven forces,’ Cassandra went on, her dark eyes boring into him even as he stared straight at the desk, pretending to be immersed in paperwork. ‘She’s the only one who can attempt to close the Breach. That may be hard to achieve without ever talking with her.’

Cullen made a noise which he hoped sounded noncommittal. Cassandra blew out an exasperated breath, moving as though she had stood still for too long.

‘Suit yourself,’ she shrugged, turning to go. She had exited the tent when her hand peeled open the flap and she poked her head back in, eyes gleaming a little. Cullen recognised the expression; it was the same look she had worn in Kirkwall, when he tried to refuse her offer to join the Conclave.

‘What is it now?’ he asked, trying to sound unruffled.

‘I was just thinking, you might find it difficult to work with her when you don’t even know her name.’

* * *

The next morning, when the Herald came back with her breakfast, and settled herself on the crate, Cullen forced himself to meet her eyes. She smiled at him, a lopsided, shy grin which he couldn’t help but return. He hesitated a moment, then motioned her to come over to join him. She finished the last bite from her plate and came over with her tea, brushing crumbs from her robe.

‘Hello,’ she said.

Her voice was soft, lilting, with an unmistakable Free Marches accent. Now, finally, he could see her up close. That was a small step, and it wasn’t so bad. At first glance, she would not have been thought of as beautiful. She had a face that was all contradiction. Sharp cheekbones and a fine-boned jaw, juxtaposed against a plump mouth that twisted into an almost childish grin when she smiled. Big greenish eyes, almost too large for her otherwise delicate face. Up close, he could see there was a spray of freckles across her upturned nose. The sleeves of her robe were rolled up to her elbows, and her boots were crusted with the slushy mud that surrounded the town. He’d heard the nobility of the Free Marches families questioned, it was something of a joke that many of the houses were only a few generations removed from the plough. But in the Herald’s face, the mixture of aristocratic fineness and earthy plainness was, he realised, incredibly appealing.

‘You know,’ he said, clearing his throat and silently cursing Cassandra and her prodding. ‘You’ve saved all of our lives and I don’t even know your name.’

She smiled at this, as though something about the question amused her.

‘Elizabeth,’ she said, pulling her long braid over her shoulder and twirling a finger through the end thoughtfully.

_Elizabeth_. The seriousness of the name didn’t suit her, Cullen thought. It seemed too rigid for this young woman who breezed through camp with mud on her robes and her tangled braid streaming out behind her in the wind.

‘It’s funny,’ she went on, ‘I’ve been ‘Initiate Trevelyan’ for so long, it’s strange to think now I’m just plain Elizabeth again. Or Lilibet. That’s what everyone called me, before.’

She waved a slender hand, brushing away the before, the past. Cullen understood what she didn’t say. Before she’d been a mage, before her life as a noble daughter had been replaced with life as an initiate at Ostwick. He understood, only too well, wanting to brush the past away with a singular motion.

_Lilibet._ He wanted so badly to say her name, to feel the familiarity of it on his tongue, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he coughed and reached back to scuff the back of his hair with a hand, a nervous habit. He had spent so long avoiding conversation with her, and now the moment had come, he found he had little to say.

Luckily, given an opening, Lilibet began to talk enough for the both of them. She peppered him with questions about being a Templar, about the recruits, about where he had come from. When he told her that he was Fereldan, her eyes lit up.

‘Were you here during the Blight?’ she asked eagerly. ‘Did you know the Hero of Ferelden?’

He felt something clench, a single throb in his temple that announced a headache. Neria Surana. He closed his eyes on the memory of her face, that flash of golden light. Cornsilk hair, the way her feet pattered when she rushed through the halls of the tower, her lithe grace. The way pity and sadness had mingled in her face when she had last seen him at Kinloch Hold. He had been broken, frenzied, begging her to put down the rest of the Circle, burn the tower, because they were all demons. Her voice, so terribly disappointed, _Ser Rutherford, there are children in the tower_ …

‘Yes,’ he said curtly. ‘I knew her.’

He shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts. The Herald would still have been young during the Blight, growing up far enough away that it was nothing more than a story to her. _She means no harm,_ he told himself, jaw clenching _._ The memories were choking him, he found himself unable to draw breath, to focus. The headache was stronger now, needling across his forehead, behind his eyes. A nudge against his arm drew him back, and he looked down to see that Lilibet had put her hand lightly over his elbow.

‘Commander?’ she asked, her large eyes scanning him worriedly. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Few who survived the Blight have fond memories of that time,’ he said, trying to breathe. ‘I would prefer not to speak of it.’

Her face fell and she took her hand away from his arm.

‘Of course,’ she said, biting her lip. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pry. I’ll leave you to your work.’

She turned to go, shoulders hunched a little as she wandered back towards the town with her plate and empty cup. He wanted to call after her, yet he could not think of what to say. He had her name, now, and had seen the flecks of gold dancing in her green eyes. And had probably frightened her away from ever speaking to him again. Considering that he had wanted to avoid her, perhaps it was for the best. He tried to convince himself of that as he watched her disappear into the village, nodding to the gate guards without her usual friendly enthusiasm.

_She is a mage,_ he told himself. _You’re a former Templar. What more is there to say?_


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen had not imagined this being the way he would make up with the Herald, over a sack of 'requisitioned' Orlesian breeches.

The back room of the Chantry had once been a small prayer hall for pilgrims to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Now, it had become a makeshift war council for what they were tentatively calling the Inquisition. If a battle against disapproving nobles and a giant tear in the sky could be considered a war. Cullen stood before the two smaller tables that had been pushed together to make one large surface and covered with maps and markers where they would plot their next actions. It was a particularly cold morning, even for Haven, and Cullen shivered a little as he waited for the Herald alongside the two women who would be Lilibet’s advisors. Josephine, the sweet-faced ambassador, who seemed to have honed diplomacy into a fine art, and Leliana, the Spymistress, who said little but knew everything. They had startlingly different ways of operating. Leliana was almost over-eager to apply a knife to solve problems, while Josephine could be stubbornly insistent on talking things out past the point of hopeful resolution. Yet somehow, they complimented each other amazingly well, one extreme seemingly balancing the other.

The door banged open, carried by the wind, as Lilibet, accompanied by Cassandra, entered in a flurry of snow which had whirled all the way from the open doors of the Chantry. She had the hood of her cloak drawn up over her head and was rubbing her hands together.

‘I don’t want to sound blasphemous,’ she said, huffing into her palms to warm them, ‘But I wish they had put the Temple of Sacred Ashes somewhere other than this icy wasteland.’

Josephine giggled.

‘You have no idea how nice it is to hear someone else say that!’

‘Well, it’s true,’ Lilibet said, now giggling too. ‘It’s freezing! And all of the buildings are complete hovels. Do you know a bird flew through my ceiling yesterday?’

Cassandra folded her arms, looking at the two giggling women incredulously. She had taken to attending the council sessions too, filling a role that was something like a mentor. Cullen could see her trying very hard not to hover whenever Lilibet bent over the map to make a decision. Despite their less than auspicious beginning, where Cassandra had held Lilibet shackled and at sword-point, the Seeker seemed to be softening towards the mage.

'You know,’ Lilibet went on, ‘Next time one of the noble houses wants a favour, we should ask them to pay us in hot water bottles. And chocolate.’

‘That,’ said Josephine, ‘Is a wonderful idea.’

Cassandra cleared her throat.

‘If you’re quite finished,’ she said, ‘perhaps we can get back to the task at hand?’

Chastened, Lilibet rearranged her face into a mask of seriousness and bent over the map, while Josephine began flipping through her ledger to find the latest report. When Cassandra caught his eye, Cullen tried not to smile. The two young women had reminded him suddenly of his older sister, and how she would laugh with her friends. They had teased him awfully, but there was something comforting thinking back to that sound of giggling and swishing skirts, a background to his everyday life before things became so complicated.

Lilibet was fresh back from Redcliffe, and related sadly the fate of the remaining rebel mages.

‘They have been completely deceived by Magister Alexius,’ she said with a disappointed sigh. ‘We have had an… offer from someone. His former assistant, a Tevinter named Dorian Pavus. He said if we still wanted to ally with the mages he could help us.’

Cassandra made a disgruntled noise, and Cullen could not help grimacing in kind.

‘Do we really want allies who are so… susceptible?’ Cassandra queried. She eyed Lilibet, as if wondering if her dismissal of a mage alliance would offend her, but the Herald seemed unperturbed. She studied the map, as if somehow the answer would be revealed to her from the expanse of parchment.

‘Our other choice is the Templars,’ Cullen put in, and Lilibet looked up at him, brows raised, her eyes curious. He swallowed. Now it was his turn to wonder if he had offended her. She had come to the Conclave to speak on behalf of the Ostwick Circle, she was not an apostate. Surely, she would have nothing to fear from the Templars. _Just as the mages in the Circle at Kirkwall had nothing to fear?_ Cullen shook his head against the probing internal voice. Lilibet was still staring at him. Their eyes met, and after a moment her mouth softened into a ghost of a smile. Was it his imagination, or did she look… hopeful?

‘They seem just as volatile,’ Cassandra huffed, interrupting the potentially awkward moment. ‘Maker’s breath, they _punched_ the Reverend Mother in Val Royeaux! Lord Seeker Lucius has completely destabilised the Order, not that they weren’t already struggling after losing control so badly in the rebellion.’

Clearly thinking of Kirkwall, she rubbed her forehead and sighed, eyes closed. Cullen swallowed, trying again not to think of everything that had occurred. Knight-Commander Meredith, so paranoid and frightened of magic that she had become the catalyst for the entire rebellion. Turning the Kirkwall Circle into little more than a prison, where harsh punishments were metered out for the smallest infringements. And for a time, he had supported her, _believed_ in her, carried out her orders with zealous enthusiasm.

‘You’ll need to make a choice,’ Cassandra told Lilibet, and with difficulty, Cullen tried to draw his attention back into the present, to the maps and markers spread before them.

‘I’ll think on it, I promise. You’ll have my choice soon,’ Lilibet said, looking across the table at them. Her tone was conciliatory, reassuring, although she seemed strained at the thought of making such a large decision. ‘I do have another matter to discuss.’

Lilibet traced her finger across the map, pointing to the Storm Coast.

‘I’ll need some supplies to travel here,’ she said. ‘I’ve had an offer from a group of mercenaries called The Chargers, led by The Iron Bull. Apparently, they would like to join the Inquisition.’

‘Iron Bull?’ Cassandra said, one brow raised.

‘ _The_ Iron Bull,’ Lilibet corrected, ‘His emissary was very emphatic on that point.’

‘He’s a Qunari,’ Leliana said, as if that explained everything.

‘Do you really think it’s wise to have a Qunari loose in the settlement?’ Cullen asked. The gigantic, horned Qunari were known throughout Thedas for their warlike nature. When they came to Kirkwall, their forces, let by the Arishok, had almost taken over the city until a last stand by Marianne Hawke had stopped them.

‘I think it would be unwise to turn down an offer of help,’ Lilibet said lightly. ‘Anyway, they’re a mercenary group. I doubt they are going to rampage through Haven if we are paying them.’

* * *

_The_ Iron Bull set himself up between the training yards and the Armory, and had not even been in the camp for a week before he had seduced one of the female recruits. Cassandra muttered something about _diversions_ in a rather irritated manner, and began sparring the practice dummies with even more enthusiasm than usual. Lilibet no longer came to watch Cullen train the recruits, and he tried not to feel disappointed. After their first ill-fated conversation, she had kept a polite distance from him and asked no further questions. His eyes kept drifting to the empty crate where she had been sitting, and he cursed Cassandra and her interfering. _I know her name now, and she’ll probably never speak to me again_ , he thought crossly as he buckled his armour in preparation for the morning drills.

‘You alright there, Commander?’ someone asked lightly. Cullen turned swiftly, and Sargent Rylen, his second in command, flinched a little. ‘Headache again, Ser?’

Cullen rubbed at his temple. The headaches had been plaguing him since Kirkwall, but he had been hoping it wasn’t that obvious.

‘I’m fine,’ he replied stiffly. He cast his eye over the recruits. More had been trickling in since Lilibet had visited Redcliffe; half of them had never wielded anything except a shovel, and all of them were completely green. They were trying, he knew, but this morning, the sight of them slumping about the ring, not even standing in formation, twisted something in him. Swiftly, he snatched up his shield from the armour rack beside the tent and stormed into the yards.

‘Right,’ he announced, ‘Let me show you what it looks like when you _actually_ use a shield.’

He held strong, and nodded at the first recruit, who swung feebly with a glancing blow that skittered over the surface of the shield. Cullen clenched his teeth and scowled.

‘Again!’ he cried. The recruit blanched a little, gave another weak swing. Outside the ring, he heard Rylen clear his throat but didn’t bother to turn around. When the training sword skittered across his shield for a third time, Cullen’s vision swam a little, clouding red.

‘Like you mean it, recruit!’ he cried, his voice tensed and rough, and he saw several of the soldiers flinch. ‘This isn’t some game of stick fighting in the village square. We are going to be fighting _demons_! They’re not going to wait around politely while you tap them with a sword!’

The recruit paused for a moment, possibly considering whether he should have stayed in Redcliffe and taken his chances with the Magister and the apostates. Then he drew himself up, and fairly threw himself behind the sword, putting all his weight into a blow that rung against Cullen’s shield like a bell and split the wooden sword in half with a resounding _crack_. The recruit panted, looking down incredulously at the sword in his hands, which was now in two pieces. Cullen lowered his shield and noted that the sword had left a sizable dent. He was panting a little, and dizzy.

‘Excellent, recruit,’ he managed after a few breaths. ‘Get yourself another sword, Sargent Rylen will take over.’

Still dizzy, he glanced over at the empty crate where the Herald had sat, then exited the training yard and made his way over to the armoury. His temples were throbbing, and he tried to breathe deeply on the short walk, willing his vision to clear. Lilibet was coming out of the armoury as he went in, her arms full of the folded weight of a new robe, topped with a pair of mailed boots. They paused in the doorway, face to face. She flushed a little, and bit her lip as her large eyes scanned him quickly. He was still breathless, and could feel the sweat on his forehead drying to a clammy sheen.

‘Sorry,’ she said, eyes sliding away, cheeks bright.

‘Excuse me,’ he said at the same time. They both stepped left, then right, then left again, locked in an awkward dance as they each tried to get out of the other’s way. Finally, Lilibet made a soft, pained noise and whirled away, Fade-stepping through the armoury wall and landing in front of Bull’s tent outside, almost knocking the Qunari over. She stumbled, dropping the things she had been carrying, and Bull jumped.

‘Boss! Don’t sneak up on me like that!’ he laughed, bending to help her restack her burden. He clapped her on the shoulder with a massive hand. ‘Thought I was back in Seheron for a minute there, and you were a Fog Warrior.’

Cullen sighed and stalked inside, handing his shield over to Harrit who eyed the dent with a wordless scowl. As Cullen waited for Harrit’s apprentice to hammer it smooth, he could hear Lilibet chattering happily away to Bull, asking him about the Qun and life as a Ben Hassrath spy. After she had trotted away, he heard Bull chuckling to himself.

‘The Boss asks a lot of questions,’ he said to Krem, his second in command, who had been watching the exchange with an amused smile. ‘But she’s alright. Freezes the balls off a demon like nobody’s business, you’ve got to respect that.’

‘Do demons even have balls?’ Krem asked, laughing.

‘No idea. But if they did, she’d freeze them. And that hair… Mmm…’

Of course he had a thing for redheads. Cullen swallowed, trying not to think of Lilibet’s bright hair, the way it had escaped the long braid when she had closed the first rifts, the loose curls flying about her muddied face. What did it matter to him who the Herald spent time with? He berated himself silently all the way back to his tent, mended shield under his arm. As he passed the training yard the recruits eyed him warily. He certainly did _not_ miss her company, he told himself. He was _not_ looking out for her on the path from the village, or missing her presence on the empty crates. _You didn’t want to get involved_ , he reminded himself, pressing his knuckles into the headache which had begun a renewed assault. She would choose an alliance soon, and with help, they would close the Breach, and this would all be over.

* * *

When Cullen saw the elf, dressed in bright plaidweave, heading towards him dragging an enormous sack, he was certain the lack of sleep had finally caught up with him. He rubbed his eyes, squinted, but she was still there, hauling the sack along the path, hefting it up to her shoulder as she lightly hopped over a slushy puddle. She came to a stop beside him, gave a casual salute, and dropped the sack at his feet where it landed with a thump.

‘Commander Jackboot?’ she asked, peering up at him. Not waiting for an answer, she nudged the sack towards him with her toe. ‘Herald Ladybloomers asked me to deliver this to you.’

‘A delivery?’ Cullen repeated. ‘I wasn’t expecting…’

She sighed and rolled her eyes a little as she readjusted the enormous bow she had slung over her shoulder.

‘Look, I don’t give the orders. Carrots said bring you the sack, so I brought it,’ she nudged it again, her eyes sparkling. Her mouth twitched a little, as though she were trying very hard not to grin. ‘Breeches requisition, Ser.’

‘Carrots? Breeches?’

She turned around and waved to Lilibet, who had just come out of the village. She looked towards them hesitantly, then walked over, laughing softly to herself when she noticed the sack.

‘There you are,’ the elf said, rolling her eyes some more towards Cullen. ‘You want to explain to him about this? He seems confused.’

Lilibet bent to open the sack, to reveal it was stuffed full of neatly folded breeches. Orlesian, by the look, fussily tailored velvet. Cullen frowned down at them. _Void-taken Orlesians_ , _of course their soldiers would be wearing velvet uniforms_ , he thought to himself.

‘Thank you, Sera,’ Lilibet said politely. ‘I’m sure our forces will be… very fashionably dressed now.’

Sera gave another offhanded salute. She looked at Lilibet as if seeing her for the first time, and shook her head a little.

‘You’re… kinda plain, aren’t you?’ she said, but kindly. ‘I expected you to be more glowy.’

Cullen bristled a little, annoyed at himself for being irritated by the thought that anyone could think of Lilibet as _plain_. Lilibet held out her hand and flexed her fingers a few times, where the anchor flashed slightly. Sera shivered a little at the sight of it.

‘Thought this would all be bigger,’ she went on, waving a hand towards the village. She snorted to herself, then grinned at Cullen and winked. ‘That would have been much funnier if you were a man, Carrots. Wasted on you.’

Lilibet seemed completely unoffended both by the personal description and the slight against the Inquisition, her mouth curled into an amused smile as she regarded the elf.

‘Where did you get these?’ Cullen asked, nodding towards the sack. ‘You didn’t steal them did you?’

‘Requisitioned,’ Lilibet corrected.

‘Big guy tried to mess with the Herald, so he ended up without his pants,’ Sera said, and cackled. When Cullen didn’t laugh, she shrugged. ‘Guess you had to be there. Anyway, these are yours now, don’t wear them all at once.’

Then she whirled away, leaping over the puddle in the centre of the path gracefully before sprinting back into the village.

Cullen had not imagined this being the way he would make up with the Herald, over a sack of 'requisitioned' Orlesian breeches. But he took the chance, while she was still nearby, to catch her eye and smile at her. She was hesitating, looking back towards Haven, but when he smiled her face softened and she didn’t move away. She had a new robe, he noticed, made of some kind of shimmery material, the skirts sewn with countless pockets and pouches. She noticed him looking at it, and he flushed.

‘This is nice,’ he said, making a gesture to her outfit.

‘Thank you,’ she smiled, proudly. ‘It has so many pockets.’

She pushed her hands into two of the deepest ones as if to demonstrate. Then, her fingers crinkled around something and her face changed.

‘That reminds me,’ she said. ‘I have something for you. But… can we go somewhere more… private?’

Her face was serious, and he tried not to stumble over his feet as he motioned to his tent nearby. The memory flashed suddenly, Neria’s little hand on the edge of his arm, _I have something urgent to tell you..._ Pulling him into a dark corner of the library, her eyes dancing, tiptoeing as she reached for him. He clutched the edge of the tent for a moment, crushing the canvas inside his hand as he stood at the opening. He shook his head, trying to shake loose the memory, thinking of turning over an hourglass to reset the spilling sand.

Lilibet followed him inside. With the canvas closed, the light was dim, and some of the sounds from the training yard were muffled. His tent was bare, holding little more than a cot, an armour rack, and a desk piled with maps and papers. He offered her the lone chair and pulled over an upturned crate for himself. They sat facing one another in silence for a few moments, and Lilibet smiled tentatively. He was glad to notice that she looked slightly more at ease, less flustered than when they had met in the doorway of the armoury. Conspiratorially, she put her hand back into her pocket, and drew out a small, wrapped package.

‘Chocolate!’ she said happily. ‘I bought it when we went to Val Royeaux, and I thought you might like some.’

Her eyes fell to her lap, where she held the package, turning it over and over in her slender hands.

‘I wanted to apologise,’ she said softly, not looking at him. ‘For asking you about the Blight. My father was fascinated by the story of the Hero of Ferelden and King Alistair. I suppose we were far enough removed from the Blight in the Free Marches that it didn’t feel real. And then, when I went to the Circle, reading the stories reminded me of… well, I was too old for tales, but when I read them, I could almost pretend I was a little girl again when things were… simpler.’

‘Was the Circle so bad, that tales of the Blight were an escape for you?’ Cullen said with a laugh that sounded harsher than he intended. Lilibet frowned to herself and sighed as she shook her head.

‘I’m trying to apologise and now I’m just making it worse,’ she said sadly. ‘I’m sorry if I misspoke, that day. I should have realised that it would be a difficult subject for a lot of people here. It’s… more than a story to you, obviously.’

Cullen had a sudden image of Lilibet as an initiate, reading alone in the Circle, missing her family. Yes, her questions had brought up memories, but those memories lay so close to the surface anyway, it was hardly her fault for being curious.

‘It’s… there’s nothing to forgive,’ Cullen said gently.

She looked up at him, still a little flushed, mouth lifting into a cautious smile. Then she ducked her head and busied herself dividing the chocolate into small squares, spreading it out on the table between them, the cloth from the package laid open over the maps and reports that covered his table.

‘I wanted to thank you for being so kind to me,’ she said, still looking down, her face hidden by a fall of hair that had escaped her braid. ‘I know most of the people here still think I killed Divine Justinia, but you, and Cassandra, and the others… Well, it’s nice that you’re letting me help.’

He took a piece of chocolate and ate it slowly. _Letting them help,_ she said. As though she were not an integral part to healing the wound in the sky. As if she had a choice in the matter, as if any of them did. She had resolutely taken on such an immense burden, and now she turned around and thanked them for it.

‘There was something else I wanted to ask you,’ she went on, her eyes darting up to meet his. ‘I’ve decided to approach the Templars for help with the Breach, and I was wondering if you would help me liaise with them.’

He looked at her, puzzled.

‘I know,’ she said, sighing. ‘Everyone expects me to work with the mages. Because I’m a mage. On the surface, it makes sense. I didn’t like being in the Circle any more than most of them, but some of the things the rebels did… it wasn’t right.’

‘Too many were hurt, on both sides,’ he said quietly.

He remembered Ferelden, the blood mages, the demons. He thought of Kirkwall, and the way the ash had swirled in the air after the explosion, sticking to everything. He had been imagining her as part of that, as the enemy, without even realising. Yet here she was, not a loyalist or a rebel but feeling much as he did, that they needed peace, that they needed to move past their differences. The taste of sweetness in his mouth was suddenly not just from the chocolate.

‘My brother is a Templar,’ she said, looking down, tracing her finger along the side of the rough plank that served as a makeshift table. ‘It was… difficult… at the Circle, because of Anluan. The other initiates couldn’t understand why I didn’t see the Templars as an enemy. But my brother is a good man. I didn’t want to be afraid of the Templars, or hate them. Most of them were trying to do what they thought was best.’

She paused and looked at him. Cullen wondered how much she knew about his own life in the Order, wondered if she would consider him one of those who were trying to do their best.

‘I doubt even you would have approved of Meredith,’ he said, trying for humour but falling short. Lilibet shrugged a little, her mouth curved into a thoughtful smile.

‘I think things were going to turn bad, even without her. Kirkwall just… sped it along a little. No good can come if you can only ever think of someone as a captive, or a jailor. We need to work together now, and see each other as people. That rift in the sky is bigger than mages or Templars, or any of that.’

‘Was he… okay? After the uprising, I mean?’

She gave a little shrug.

‘He was in one of the smaller Circles and from what he wrote to our father, they settled things amiably enough. He said their Knight-Commander ordered them to stand down and let the mages walk free. I suppose after Kirkwall, they wanted to end things as cleanly as possible.’

She looked up at him, and fidgeted a little, twisting the skirt of her robe in her hands.

‘He went to the Order when I was still a child. I cried so much when he left and my mother scolded me, she said the Maker would be offended by my ingratitude. He used to write letters home from the Circle and draw pictures of animals in the borders for me.’

‘Does he still write to you?’ Cullen asked. He thought guiltily of his own siblings, his sister Mia, how long it had been since he had sent them a letter. He realised they didn’t even know he was back in Ferelden. Lilibet rubbed her nose and gave him a lopsided smile, a wistful softness in her green eyes.

‘Not often,’ she admitted. ‘It was difficult, the way my magic surfaced. I was quite old, and it was unexpected. Some of the Order suspected my family had been hiding it, and I suppose he wanted to distance himself from that. I’m sure he still cares for me, but… It’s different, from when I was just his little sister…’

She trailed off, looking as though she wanted to say more but had lost her nerve. As though it had a life of its own, Cullen’s hand edged out, moving towards her with an intention of putting itself over hers.

‘Oh look,’ she said, changing the subject. ‘There’s one piece left.’

He drew back his hand, held it fast between his knees.

‘You can have it.’

‘Oh no,’ she said, smiling wider now. ‘Don’t let me be greedy. Here.’

She picked up the square and broke it carefully, then dropped one half into his palm. They smiled at one another as they each ate their share. There was something about this stolen moment, where she was just Lilibet, sitting opposite him, without the weight and expectations of the world on her, that warmed him. He wanted to tell her he was glad that things had softened between them, that he was glad she had come to spend time with him. But all too soon, from outside the tent they heard a voice asking _Have you seen the Herald?_ _Where’s the Commander?_

Lilibet sighed, and they both stood up. Then she caught his wrist, and leaned close.

‘Wait,’ she said softly. She caught his face in her hand, and, with a delicate fingertip, brushed at the corner of his mouth. He felt the touch long after she had drawn back.

‘You had chocolate there,’ she said, grinning. ‘We have to hide the evidence.’


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘They’re right,’ she said after a time. ‘It was an ill-thought choice. But what was I supposed to do, ask the Envy demon to just wait a minute while I sent a raven to ask Leliana’s advice for how to handle things?’

Cassandra wheeled on Lilibet before the doors to the war council had even closed.

‘Was it truly wise to allow them such freedom?’ Cassandra cried, throwing out her hands as she spoke, emphasizing her disapproval of the whole situation. ‘The crimes they committed! Officers betraying their leaders, a demon imitating the Lord Seeker! We should have taken them to task. The crimes they’ve committed…’ she trailed off, her face twisting in disgust.

‘You should have consulted us,’ Leliana chided, fixing Lilibet with a scolding glare.

The mission to Therinfal Redoubt, to propose an alliance with the Templars, had quickly turned from a straightforward operation to a bloodied skirmish. It had stung Cullen, seeing his former Order corrupted by demons and reduced to a slavish force of red Lyrium infested thralls. He was unsettled, and couldn’t shake the feeling that, had he not left the Order, he might have been amongst those who fell at the fortress. He thought of how wonderful the Templars had seemed when he was still a boy, and he had first seen them in his village. After one let him try on their helmet and sit on their beautiful, steady horse, he had run to his father and begged to be allowed to join them. All of that was gone now, the Order sullied. First Meredith, and now this. Ruined by the foolishness and fear and lust for power that corrupted so many. It had pained him, but he had almost hoped the Herald would turn her back on the Templars, tell them to serve as soldiers then leave. But Lilibet had not disbanded the Order. Instead, she had asked the Templars to join them as free allies.

She faced the disapproval of her advisors quietly now, holding strong despite their resistance to her decision. As they reconvened over the war table, Cullen thought Lilibet looked completely exhausted. Little wonder. She had barely spoken of what she had seen while she defended the remaining Templars within the fortress, but her experience had clearly unsettled her. She had not even bothered to change before coming straight to the council. Her robes were torn, splotched around the hem with blood and something darker, stickier. As she walked in to the room, Cullen tried to catch her attention, wanting to somehow to offer her some reassurance, although he was feeling just as hopeless. But she ignored them all as she stepped into the room, staring straight ahead with her shoulders squared, braced against the disapproval of her advisors.

Cassandra was pacing now, checking off more problems on her fingers as she spoke.

‘And that… _thing_ … you say helped you… I’m certain he’s a demon, yet you invited him back into Haven!’

Cole, the mysterious young man, had appeared at the gates moments after their forces arrived back at the village. Cassandra had held him at sword point, and would have most likely beheaded him if Lilibet hadn’t arrived to intervene. Cullen didn’t like the creature, whatever he was, and certainly didn’t trust him. But Lilibet claimed to know him, saying that he had helped her defeat the Envy demon that had almost overwhelmed the Templars, and she insisted he be allowed to stay.

Lilibet drew a breath. She gripped the edge of the table, her hands white-knuckled, and spoke with her eyes still fixed on the wall behind them.

‘Cole helped me at Therinfal Redoubt. He is not a threat to us,’ she said. ‘As for the Templars, Knight-Templar Barris is a good man, and I trust him. Do you really want to risk losing the Order entirely?’

Leliana folded her arms and exhaled sharply, managing to convey all of her displeasure in that one small breath. Josephine looked around the room helplessly, her mouth twisting in exasperation. She narrowed her eyes warningly at Leliana, who huffed, and retreated a few steps away from the table.

‘An alliance with the Templars _was_ our aim,’ Josephine said, her tone forcibly upbeat. She held out a hand in an attempt to quell the brewing storm. ‘Perhaps for now we can concentrate on the preparations for their arrival?’

Cullen cleared his throat, and pulled his eyes away from Lilibet’s tensed hands, which still held fast to the edge of the table.

‘There will be room for them beside the other new recruits,’ he said. ‘Once they are settled I’ll begin drilling them with our other soldiers.’

He looked at Lilibet, trying to meet her eyes, but she still stared distantly into the room.

‘We will soon have the means to close the Breach,’ he told her softly. Something in his tone stirred her a little, although he was not sure if she had properly heard him.

‘Yes,’ she said tiredly, unpeeling her hands from their grip, and shoving them deep into the pockets of her robe. ‘Please forgive me, I… I’m quite exhausted. If you’ll excuse me, may we continue these discussions tomorrow?’

Josephine shot Cassandra and Leliana a look, though only the Seeker looked slightly repentant for how she had spoken to the Herald.

‘Of course,’ Josephine said, ‘I’m sure things will be much better tomorrow, when we are all refreshed.’

Lilibet left without another word, not pausing to hold the door or look to see if anyone was following her. Once she had left, they all stood silent a moment, regarding one another over the table.

‘You needn’t have scolded her so,’ Cullen said finally. Leliana narrowed her eyes at him.

‘She’s not a child,’ she said with exasperation. ‘She will need to learn. Do you really want a green recruit dragging us through this, without questioning her?’

‘You asked her to choose an alliance and she chose,’ he said stiffly, though his nerve was wavering. He knew if he was ensnared into an argument with Leliana, he would not win. He took a breath, then gathered up a stack of reports and tucked them under his arm. Nodding to Cassandra and Josephine, he excused himself and left the room.

* * *

 

As he went to place the reports in his tent, he noticed a faint light coming from Lilibet’s quarters. He took a moment to pace and scowl, feeling a headache building, thinking belatedly of all the things he _should_ have said to Leliana. Maker, he hadn’t even tried to defend Lilibet when they were picking her to pieces. With a muttered curse, he headed back out into the chill night, and went to knock on Lilibet’s door. She opened it, looked him over tiredly, and turned back, leaving the door open to him by way of invitation.

The accommodations at Haven were basic, and Lilibet’s earlier assessment of ‘hovels in the snow’ had not been far off the mark. The shack they had provided for her was one of the nicest there, but still a rudimentary construction. She spent little time there, often gone for days or weeks in the field, and when Cullen stepped inside he saw she’d barely made a mark on the room. Her staff leaned against the wall, her cloak hung on a peg beside the door. Aside from a small tea pot and cup on the little table, there was nothing to claim this room as hers.

‘Have you come to scold me some more?’ she asked acidly, after she had closed the door and they faced each other inside the simple room. ‘Please don’t bother. I’m well aware how much I have disappointed all of you.’

‘Maker, no,’ he felt himself flush, began to scuff the back of his hair with a nervous hand. ‘I wanted to apologise.’

Lilibet looked at him for a moment, her face blank. Then she collected another cup from a shelf, sat down at the table and nodded for him to join her. She swirled the pot and poured them both tea. He noticed she had taken off her boots, and she tucked one of her stockinged feet up under her, curling tiredly in the chair as she let the steam from the tea bathe her face. There was a streak of dirt on her cheek, and dark shadows beneath her eyes.

‘They’re right,’ she said after a time. ‘It was an ill-thought choice. But what was I supposed to do, ask the Envy demon to just wait a minute while I sent a raven to ask Leliana’s advice for how to handle things?’

She put her cup back onto the table with enough force to make the tea slosh over the edge. Huffing, she wiped her wet hand against her skirts.

‘You should not be so hard on yourself. You’re learning,’ Cullen said softly. ‘You… you’ve had a trial by fire. I don’t think there was any easy answer here. With time, we will make this work. I know the Order, good and bad, and I don’t think your trust is misplaced.’

She gave him a faint smile.

‘Well… thank you,’ she said. She sipped her tea, lost in thought. Cullen noticed on the table was a copy of Varic’s _Champion of Kirkwall_ , a small scrap of ribbon inside to mark her place. He recalled their earlier conversation, where Lilibet told him of losing herself in stories during her time at the Circle. He picked up the book and looked at it with a chuckle. The picture on the cover, showing Marianne Hawke with flowing pale hair and blazing blue eyes, could not have been further from the truth, but perhaps that was the point.

‘You seem to enjoy reading,’ he said. ‘I’m sure Varic is pleased, I’ve heard he certainly knows how to spin a tale.’

Lilibet murmured agreement, her eyes still distant.

‘I was… lonely, in the Circle. If not for the rebellion, this would have been my eighth year. I liked reading. It helped pass the time.’

‘Perhaps Varic will be writing about you soon enough,’ he teased, trying to draw out some of the heaviness of her mood. Lilibet laughed sharply.

‘I doubt it. It would be a very short tale. Freckly, plain, foolishly allied with the Templars,’ she said derisively. ‘Perhaps Solas can add a blurb for the back cover; _She’s not even a very powerful mage_. That was what he said after they rescued me, when he thought I was still sleeping.’

‘You’re not plain,’ Cullen said, then felt his face heat, and went on quickly. ‘Or foolish. You’re too hard on yourself.’

Lilibet sighed.

‘I have to be hard,’ she said. ‘So much rests on my decisions. It’s funny, everyone is always so frightened of mages being possessed by demons, and there is the entire Templar Order, almost completely incapacitated.’

He looked at her hands folded on the table top, curved and white, her nails dirty, a small bandage around one long finger. Her tireless hands, that held the fates of so many within their slender grasp. He wanted badly to reach out, cup his own hands over hers, but was not sure if she would welcome his touch.

‘Tell me,’ Lilibet asked suddenly. ‘Have you ever presided over a Harrowing? You must have.’

Cullen nodded, not trusting himself to speak. It was suddenly ten years ago, as he stood over the delicate form of Neria, watching her closed eyes flicker, staring intently at her neck, that delicate arch, knowing what he would be called to do, without hesitation, should it come to the worst. When he’d told her after, that he had been the one to guard her, she had looked at him as though he had slapped her. Why had he thought that knowledge would be a comfort to her?

‘It always seemed rather obtuse, to me, this idea of exposing mages to the Fade, to demons, as if possession is something that you can… inoculate against. As if that one test means anything. I wonder,’ she looked up at him suddenly, her green eyes huge in the candlelight, ‘what would you do if I became possessed?’

Of course, after what she had just seen, of course she was thinking of that. Mages spent their entire existence being told they were susceptible, that they must guard against possession, because their connection to the Fade put them one step closer to the demons. He had never really considered, until now, how it must feel for them to live with that hanging over them. And he knew, and she knew, what he had been trained to do if any mage became possessed. His face felt hot under her piercing, relentless gaze.

‘Maker,’ he said, his voice a desperate plea. ‘Don’t ask me that.’

‘I think I already know your answer,’ she said, letting her gaze drop. ‘The Envy demon… showed me things,’ she went on. ‘I know what’s at stake if we fail to close the Breach, probably more than you all credit me.’

He did touch her then, his hand rising to rest over her own. She did not shake him off as he feared, but seemed to soften a little, curling further around herself in her chair. He reached, cupped her cheek, brushing at the smear of dirt with a thumb. She closed her eyes into the touch.

‘You’re so…’ he trailed off. _Beautiful_ , he wanted to say. _Brave_. Would she welcome such knowledge, that she was the bravest and most beautiful thing he had seen in a very long time? Her breath gave a little hitch, and he felt the air flutter across his hand as she exhaled. On the table, her fingers twitched a little against his own, and she took his hand, clasping it briefly, before she let it go.

‘Tired?’ she supplied finally, her mouth twisting into a little smile. ‘Dreadfully. I’m going to be completely melancholy in a moment, if you keep on being so kind.’

They stood up together, his hand falling away from her cheek as they moved. She put her own hand there, almost unconsciously, as though unsure how to process his touch.

‘I’ve disturbed you for long enough,’ he said, apologetically. ‘Thank you for the tea. I hope after a decent rest things will seem a little more… approachable in the morning.’

Lilibet smiled at him, a smile which soon became a large inelegant yawn. She was too slow in hiding it behind her hand, and when she caught him looking at her, she laughed. She padded beside him the few steps to the door, leaning a shoulder against the doorway as she saw him out. For a moment they stood together, eyes lifting to the greenish Breach that had become a constant feature of the sky.

‘I wonder,’ Lilibet said, her tired voice soft and low, ‘When it’s closed, if the sky will look strange to us with it gone.’


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even as he said it, he saw in her face that she knew there would be no withstanding this.

‘Nice work, Carrots,’ Varic said to Lilibet after she sealed the Breach. He clapped her on the shoulder. ‘Now the world isn’t ending, you can relax. You too, Curly,’ he shot a look in Cullen’s direction. ‘I keep telling you, going around with that serious look on your face all the time is bad for your health.’

Lilibet laughed, but they made a rather sombre procession as they walked silently back to the village. After all their preparations, closing the Breach was almost anticlimactic. They stood, shoulder to shoulder, as Lilibet marched back into the ruins of the Temple and drew on the combined power of the Templar and Inquisition forces to seal the wound in the sky. She had been right, Cullen thought. The sky did look strange with the Breach closed, although it was not completely gone; a soft, blurred scar remained behind as a reminder of where the Breach had been. That scar unnerved him a little; although he was pleased the whole exercise had gone smoothly, somehow everything seemed a little too simple. As Varic urged them to celebrate, Cullen could not still the feeling there was something _more_ coming.

Lilibet did not take Varic’s advice, although many of the villagers were happy to celebrate. Outside the Tavern, some were even dancing, and Cullen saw Iron Bull at the centre of a band of ruffians which must have been the Chargers, upending a barrel of ale straight into his mouth. Lilibet sank back against the wall of the Chantry beside Cassandra. She smiled indulgently at the antics below, but made no move to join them.

‘Many questions remain,’ Cassandra said to her, ‘but this was a victory.’

‘We still don’t know what caused this,’ Lilibet said. She looked down at the others; drinking, laughing, and sighed. ‘We can’t rest easy.’

‘I agree,’ said Cassandra. ‘But for now, the immediate danger has passed.’

Cullen nodded to them both.

‘You did well,’ he said to Lilibet.

‘We all did this,’ she said, smiling up at him, her eyes tired but happy. ‘Together.’

* * *

Suddenly, the Chantry bell began ringing. Cullen leaped into Commander mode, drawing his sword and running down towards the gates.

‘Forces approaching!’ he called to the villagers as he passed. ‘To arms!’

Behind him, he heard Cassandra draw her sword, as she and Lilibet followed him, running. At the gates, a breathless scout drew up beside them, her eyes wide with fear.

‘There’s a massive force approaching Ser,’ she said.

‘Under what banner?!’ Cassandra cried. The scout began shaking her head helplessly.

‘None.’

‘None?’ Lilibet repeated. ‘How can that be?’

She was interrupted by a thudding at the closed gates. She drew her staff, and Cullen felt the chill crackle of her magic in the air as she threw up a protective barrier around them. The ground shook a little as Bull, an enormous axe resting over one shoulder, jogged up to stand protectively beside the Herald. He shivered as he stepped into her barrier, grimacing a little at the feel of her magic. 

‘Everything okay, Boss?’ he asked.

Lilibet shook her head at him, eyes still focused on the gate. Who or whatever was outside began to knock wildly, while behind them the Chantry bell continued to ring furiously as the villagers scattered.

‘If someone could open this,’ came a voice, archly, ‘I’d appreciate it!’

‘What, are we under attack by the ‘Vints now?’ Bull grunted, clearly recognising the accent. Lilibet shoved past and began struggling with the bar of the gate.

‘Help me with this,’ she called, ‘It’s Dorian!’

Dorian Parvus, the mage who had offered to help them in Redcliffe. Bull stepped forward and easily lifted the bar aside. The gates swung open as the Tevinter mage, still looking very debonair despite being completely out of breath, collapsed forward into them. Bull caught him under the arms and gave him a little shake, then set him back on his feet.

‘Ah, there you are,’ he said, panting, smiling dryly over at Lilibet. Bull put out a hand but he ducked away, clearly not wanting to be shaken again. ‘No, I’m fine, just exhausted. I came over here to warn you—fashionably late, I’m afraid.’

From the mountains above came a rumbling, as the massed, bannerless force marched into view. The force was so large it seemed to creep liquidly towards them, like a shadow sliding across the snow. Cullen squinted. Heading the force was some kind of enormous creature, he could see the glint of eyes, a semblance of a face, but the twisted, angular shape could not possibly be human. He swallowed, and did the only thing he could think of, which was to stand straight, salute Dorian, and attempt to take control.

‘Report,’ he commanded.

‘After Redcliffe, the mages… Well, I’m afraid you’re not going to like this. They’re under the command of the Venatori, and,’ here he pointed to the creature above, ‘in service to The Elder One.’

‘What _is_ that thing?!’ Lilibet asked, hand at her mouth. The force continued its terrible progress towards them. Cullen put a hand on her shoulder, and she turned to him.

‘Haven is no fortress,’ he said quietly. ‘If we are to have a chance, we need to hit them soon, and hard.’

Lilibet nodded, swallowing. She drew herself up, looking to Bull and Cassandra who stood beside her, awaiting her next move.

‘The trebuchets?’ she said finally, looking at him for confirmation. That would take her so close to the advancing forces, but it was their best chance. His hand, still on her shoulder, grasped unconsciously. She was tensed, but steady, standing firm and strong. He squeezed her shoulder, stroked a little with his thumb. There was no time now, no time to say any of the things he had only began to realise. He looked at her, nodded, and let her go. He was her Commander now, it was all he could do.

Lilibet turned in a whirl of bright hair, motioning to Bull and Cassandra to follow her. Dorian, breath back, picked up his staff and ran after them. Cullen watched the group as they ran down the path towards the trebuchets, then turned back to the other soldiers who were gathered, awaiting their orders.

‘Get the villagers to the Chantry,’ he called. ‘Soldiers, hold strong! For your Herald!’

* * *

He heard, rather than saw, when the trebuchets fired. A massive, rumbling avalanche of snow thundered down, sweeping away the Venatori into a cloud of screaming, tangled limbs that were soon buried. He saw Lilibet, her face relieved, smiling up at Bull, as Cassandra peered around them, guarding against stragglers. _She had done it_ , he thought, with a sigh. Then, an ear-splitting roar raged across the sky, louder even than the thunder of the avalanche. The trebuchet disintegrated into a splintering pile of flames as a dragon—surely not a dragon—blasted down an enormous fireball that engulfed trebuchet in flames. Lilibet and the others leapt clear, and ran towards Haven without looking back.

He was at the gate, holding it open, motioning the soldiers through, hurrying them although he knew it was hopeless. Lilibet paused beside him, her eyes wide, shimmering with the reflected flames. She looked at him silently, beseeching him for an answer.

‘The Chantry,’ he said. ‘Get everyone to the Chantry, it’s the only building strong enough to withstand…’

Even as he said it, he saw in her face that she knew there would be no _withstanding_ this. He swallowed.

‘All we can do now is make them work for it,’ he said. Her face shuttered a little, and she blinked, then nodded. Motioning for her companions to follow, she ran up to the Chantry. Once they were inside, Cullen shut the gate behind them. A futile gesture, he knew. Futile gestures were all that were left to them now.


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She held out her hand towards him, it trembled between them, the anchor on her palm flashing. The light rippled over their faces. He reached to her, and their fingers brushed, just for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lilibet gets a POV chapter because why not :)

_We were all so focused on closing the Breach_ , Lilibet thought. _Why did nobody pause to wonder what would come after?_ She had never thought that she would ever look back wistfully to the moments before Dorian’s alert, when a hole in the sky had been their only enemy. Now they all stood in the Chantry as the sounds of the encroaching attack thundered outside. Everyone was silent, catching their breath, eyeing one another with a tense air of _what do we do next?_ Eventually, Cullen stepped forward. He looked drawn, and he spoke numbly, as though realising he had to fulfil his duty as Commander but struggling to overcome is emotions at the dire situation.

‘There are no tactics to make this survivable. The only choice now is how cleanly we want to end this,’ he said, regarding Lilibet with blank eyes.

Lilibet turned, thinking. The Elder One. He had come for her. If she could go out to the gates, stop him… Her stomach lurched as she remembered the twisted, hideous figure she had glimpsed up on the mountains above Haven. A grimacing, stretched face on a skeletal form that was barely human. She swallowed. Her advisors had already begun to tease her about the way she would try and negotiate her way out of things, rather than fight. But she knew there would be no reasoning with that thing. He would be satisfied with her blood, her life, and nothing less.

‘The trebuchet…’ Lilibet began, her mind reeling. ‘We didn’t fire the final one. If I can get down there… but we’re overrun. To hit the enemy, we’d destroy Haven.’

‘The Elder One doesn't care about the village. He only wants the Herald,’ said Cole softly from where he crouched in the corner.

Lilibet trailed off, looking at Cullen. When he had said end things ‘cleanly’, she wondered if suffocating the townsfolk under an avalanche of brutal snow was what he’d intended. Would it be a mercy, to bury the town, to spare them from the ravages of the Elder One and the remaining Venatori? Cullen was shaking his head at her, a wordless refusal. _He doesn’t want me to go_ , Lilibet realised. But if not her, then who?

There was a weak cough and Lilibet looked over to see Chancellor Roderick reaching to her with a trembling hand. Dorian was holding the older man against his shoulder.

‘There’s a path,’ he croaked, coughed, tried again. ‘You would not know it unless you’d made the Summer pilgrimage, as I did. It leads behind the village and into the mountains.’

Lilibet knelt beside him. She had spoken little to the Chancellor since that first day, when he had all but insisted Cassandra send Lilibet’s head to Orlais. She had thought him a zealous old fool and tried her best to avoid him. She tried to forget that now, thinking instead of how he had been wounded helping others to safety. Dorian pressed a handkerchief into the Chanellor’s hands, and when he held it to his mouth, it came away bloody.

‘Cullen,’ Lilibet asked softy, not turning, ‘Can you get them out? Will that work?’

‘She must have shown me,’ Roderick went on, eyes distant. ‘Andrastae must have shown me so I could… tell you.’

Lilibet got to her feet, and turned around to survey the crowd inside the Chantry hall. The men and women who had been her advisors, companions, and friends during her time here. She felt tears prickle her eyes and swallowed them as her vision wavered. They surveyed each other, nobody speaking, not wanting to say the farewells which would make it real that she was leaving. That she would sacrifice herself to allow them to escape.

‘What of your escape?’ Cullen asked her softly. ‘Perhaps you’ll surprise it… find a way…’ he trailed off.

Lilibet shook her head, a tiny movement, silencing him. She didn’t want any false hope, she couldn’t bear it. He looked at her searchingly, his eyes wide and hopelessly sad. When she had first met the former Templar, she had not expected to like him so much. But his kindness drew her, the way he reminded her of Anluan, of the way the Order had been in her mind as a child, before the Circle. When Templars were not guards, but heroic and wonderful, like the chevaliers in her bedtime stories. She liked the way that he said her name, running it quickly through his mouth, always looking slightly shy. She liked his looks; his amber eyes and the scar at the edge of his mouth which make his smile charmingly crooked, almost boyish.

He leaned down towards her, and for a moment, there was no one else but them. She held out her hand towards him, it trembled between them, the anchor on her palm flashing. The light rippled over their faces. He reached to her, and their fingers brushed, just for a moment. A warmth spread through her, a longing to take his hands, to cling at him, to fall into his arms. With difficulty, Lilibet drew her hand back, and thrust it deep into the pockets of her robe. She could not do this, make some foolish, emotional goodbye to the Commander. Not here, in front of everyone. There were so many things she wanted to say, most half-formed, swirling feelings with no words to pin them down into understanding.

‘If we are to have a chance,’ he began, then swallowed, correcting himself. ‘If _you_ are to have a chance… let that thing hear you.’

Nodding, she turned, her palm flat against the heavy door as behind her the survivors rallied. Dorian helped Roderick to his feet, as behind him the townspeople were preparing to be shepherded out of the Chantry towards the hidden path. Lilibet pushed at the door but a sudden weight on her shoulder stopped her. She turned, confused, and saw Bull there, his large hand gripping her, holding her in place.

‘You’re not going to have all the fun without me, are you, Boss?’ he asked. The big, one-eyed Qunari was fearsome and strong and she had begun to enjoy fighting beside him. He had been a solid, reliable presence when he accompanied her on expeditions from Haven, his methodical fighting style complimenting the flurried motion of her spells. And Lilibet had come to realise that he was fiercely intelligent, she saw it now, in the way his eye glinted as his hand pinned her shoulder. His mouth was twisted into the approximation of a teasing smile, but his eye was hard with knowing, his brows drawn. Without letting her go, he turned to call to his second in command.

‘Krem! Take the Chargers until we get back.’

Lilibet tried to wriggle free of his grip but it was no good. He pushed open the doors and propelled her out ahead of him, then slammed them shut before she could move to protest. She looked up at him, and knew that she could either accept that he planned to accompany her on this fool’s errand, or waste the precious time that Roderick’s path had bought the townsfolk by standing here arguing the point. She blew out a long, steadying breath which clouded in the chill night air.

‘I’ll freeze them, you knock them down,’ she said. It was their usual tactic when fighting together. ‘Then keep them off me while I ready the trebuchet.’

Bull unsheathed his massive axe and gave it a few preparatory swings. They nodded to one another, then set off towards the gate at a slow jog.

* * *

 The trebuchet was ready to fire. Lilibet leaned against the wheel for a moment, every muscle in her arms and shoulders a searing protest at the strain she had just put them through. Behind her, she heard Bull grunt as he finished off another of the Venatori. She turned, and saw he was close to being overwhelmed. Bull was strong, a tireless fighter, but even one Qunari could not withstand the continuing onslaught of the Venatori force. He had been wounded, a deep gash across his already scarred chest, which he took no notice of as he slashed, and swung, and turned to beat back the attackers that drew closer behind him. His fighting seemed to grow even more frenetic now that he was wounded, and he moved in a deadly fervour that was both grisly and beautiful. Lilibet put her hand to her mouth as she saw him grab one of the Venatori by their head, one-handed, snapping their neck in a swift movement. But it was no good. One caught him across the back of his knee and he stumbled, grunting, then they were on him.

‘Hold on, Bull!’ she screamed, though she knew there was nothing she could do, her magic depleted, her hands shaky and splintered from wrenching the massive wheel of the trebuchet. Then suddenly, there was a whirl, so fast at first it seemed like a billowing cloud of smoke summoned around them. A whoosh, a soft noise, _snick_ , then Bull was freed and the Venatori were on their backs, throats opened, gasping, eyes wide in surprise at what had been done so rapidly to them. Cole put a bloodstained hand on Bull’s arm, giving him a questioning pat.

‘The Iron Bull,’ he said. ‘Elizabeth. I’m here to help you.’

Lilibet felt her eyes begin to sting in gratitude at this mysterious young man, who or whatever he was, and his impeccable timing. He had saved her from the demon in Therinfal Redoubt, and he had saved them now.

‘Cole,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Thank you.’

Panting, she stepped down from the trebuchet towards her companions on wobbling legs. Together she and Cole helped Bull up, and he got back to his feet with a grunt. Then all three looked up to see a flare, cast up into the sky from the hills behind Haven. It hung for a second in the clear sky, then burst, dissipating into a shower of tiny, bright sparks. She drew a shuddering breath. Everyone was safe. Lilibet, still holding Bull’s hand, squeezed it tight, then flung her arms around Cole and hugged him.

‘She’s squashing me,’ he said to Bull, confused. ‘Does that help her?’

‘Yeah, kid,’ Bull said, sounding a little choked. ‘It helps.’

‘Go,’ she said, as she pulled back. ‘Both of you. You can get to safety, you still have time.’

There came a shriek from the mountains, and the dragon came wheeling towards them. Cole gave her a wan smile then vanished in a similar whirl of blurry smokish motion as that with which he had suddenly appeared.

‘Run!’ Lilibet cried to Bull.

Bull hesitated a moment, then he clenched his jaw and nodded at her.

‘It’s been a pleasure, Boss,’ he said. He shouldered his axe and turned, heading back towards the town at an easy lope, one hand held up in farewell as he ran.

* * *

 

Her companions were safe back inside the walls when the dragon landed before her, and the Elder One dismounted. Lilibet swallowed, clutching her staff, although she knew it was hopeless.

‘Pretender,’ he sneered, looking down at her.

‘Whatever you are, I’m not afraid of you!’ she screamed, helplessly, her voice swept away by the beats of the dragon’s wings.

‘Know me, and exalt The Elder One… the will that is Coryphaeus. You will… kneel.’

He held his hand aloft and something in her twisted, the anchor on her palm blazed and she fell to her knees.

‘I am here to claim the anchor,’ he said. He caught her by the wrist, shaking her back and forth. She felt her fragile bones grind together under his massive, clutching claw. He held her hand up, inspecting it, the green light of the anchor illuminating his grisly, terrifying face. ‘You have flailed about, fumbling, undoing my work. No more.’

He shook her again, like a dog trying to yank free a chunk from a haunch of meat. Lilibet’s teeth rattled and bit into her tongue. She began coughing as her mouth filled with blood. Coryphaeus waved the glowing orb he clutched in his hand over her palm, and she felt a terrible pull, as though he was trying to drag her very soul out of her body. Her vison swam, the hand he gripped burned and stung. Dimly, she realised he was still talking to her.

‘Your pathetic fumbling will not stop me. I will have victory, and you will pray I succeed. For I have been to the throne of the gods, and found it empty.’

Lilibet spit the blood that had filled her mouth at him, splattering his twisted face. He did not seem to notice, still glaring down at her hand where the anchor flickered weakly.

‘The anchor is permanent,’ he snapped, disgusted. He flung her away, and her back thudded into the trebuchet, knocking all of the breath from her. Gasping, she clutched her wrist, feeling it already swelling, trying to scrabble herself upright. Her hand clutched against something. A sword, most likely dropped by one of the Venatori that Bull had fought off as she struggled to prime the trebuchet. Although it was only moments ago, it seemed like something from another lifetime, another world. With a shaking hand, she willed her fingers to grip the hilt, then struggled to her feet. Coryphaeus eyed her, clearly thinking she was making a desperate last stand. He threw back his head and laughed, a hideous sound that seemed to bounce and echo all around her.

‘You…’ she began, forcing herself to stay upright, pulling all her remaining strength to her arms, lifting the sword. ‘You arrogant fool. _Here’s_ your victory!’

She swung the sword down, severing the rope that held the trebuchet ready to fire. It snapped, and with a rattle of rapidly unrolling chains, it was loose, flinging its load high into the snow-covered slopes above Haven. The avalanche began with a slow rumble, like distant thunder, the sound building as the ground shuddered beneath them. Coryphaeus turned, his face twisting incredulously, if something as inhuman of Coryphaeus was indeed capable of looking surprised. Cursing, he leaped back onto the dragon, and the last sight Lilibet had before the tumult of snow swept her away was of that hideous creature, flapping away into the night on its ravaged, leathery wings.


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knowing he shouldn’t, unable to refuse, he bent to her upturned face and kissed her.

She had come back from the dead, or so it seemed. Pulled from the snow, half-conscious, carried back to the camp. They argued while she slept, he and the Seeker. About what they should do, this bedraggled clutch of tired soldiers and refugees, now homeless and huddled together in the middle of nowhere with a snowstorm coming. Cassandra was frightened, which meant she was angry, finding that shouting was a good antidote to dealing with the discomfort of fear. He barely heard what she was saying, just a disgruntled buzz of words punctuated as she struck the table, reinforced by Leliana’s crisp interjections. He was suddenly realising that he had all but sent Lilibet out to her death. Never mind that she would have gone anyway. He thought of himself saying to her _maybe you’ll surprise it_ , cursing himself at the memory for being such a fool. He had not even been able to hold her hand, moving too hesitantly, she had drawn away before he could return the touch.

Then Lilibet had sat herself up, and called to them. Her voice was soft, but it was enough to silence them all. They went to her and she sat on the edge of her bedroll, a borrowed cloak draped over her, and stared blank-eyed into the distance when she related all that had happened after she left Haven to make her last stand. Coryphaeus. The Elder One, some kind of half-alive darkspawn Magister who claimed he had been to the Black City, to the seat of the Gods. In her lap, her upturned palm showed the anchor, stronger now, a yellowish green. She winced as it flickered. Solas had stalked over and knelt beside her, peering into the mark with a look that belied fascination more than concern.

 She was twice saved; first from the rift and now from an Archdemon. Truly a miracle now, winning over even those who had initially doubted. When they had all stood together, their voices joined in song, the snowy campsite had felt filled with a glow that warmed him more than the meagre fire. As his voice raised to meet the others, it was the lightest his heart had felt in the longest time. Yet amongst the joyful singing, he had seen her at the edge of the crowd, her face a mask of uncertainty and sadness. She had not joined them, but hung back, leaning against the edge of the tent. There was a reddish graze on her cheek from a chilblain that she hadn’t let them heal. _It doesn’t matter_ , she had said, waving the healer away. His voice fell silent as he met her eyes, his stomach dropping with sudden understanding. After so many lives were lost, how could this matter? After she had walked out to face death, how could anything matter?

* * *

They were moving through the mountains now. The Herald had been quiet since her rescue, although she assured them she was fine. She looked terrible, her delicate face was pale, with purpled shadows underneath her wide eyes. She moved tirelessly at the front of their march, stopping occasionally to look back, to check that nobody had been left behind.

That night when they camped, he was unsurprised to hear quiet sobbing coming from her tent. It was late, everyone had turned in long ago, except for a few scouts who watched the perimeter. Cullen stared at the tent, feeling torn. She wouldn’t want anyone to see her that way. But he remembered how he hadn’t taken her hand, that last moment in Haven, and the pull to go towards her was so strong. As he listened to her crying, he couldn’t ignore her. Slowly, he moved towards the tent, and slipped inside hesitantly, kneeling in the opened flaps of canvas.

She had curled herself tightly in her blankets, as though wrapped in a cocoon. There was nothing but a swathe of bright hair poking out from the top of the bedroll.

‘Herald?’ he said, softly. Then, ‘Lilibet?’

In the darkness of the tent, the sound of her name felt strange in his mouth, like tasting a new fruit. She didn’t reply, but she snuffled and moved slightly. He murmured her name again, then, feeling emboldened, came fully into the tent, pulling the opening closed behind him. He stretched out beside her. She looked at him, confused, eyes puffy, wiping her nose against her wrist. He held out his arm, an unspoken offer, and she closed her eyes as he pulled her blanket-rolled form against him. She stretched her arm across his chest, and rested her cheek against his shoulder. Her hair brushed his nose and he breathed in her smell, mint and honey and something earthy, like windswept snow. He reached for her hand and traced a gentle finger across the mark. It felt hot, and throbbed against his touch as though it had a pulse. Solas had managed to stabilise whatever was paining her earlier, but even so, it must wear her down, that constant ache.

She was so tireless. Already so many turned to her, full of expectations. They would have her be a deity, a Herald sent and blessed by Andraste herself. But right now, she was entirely human. Scared, vulnerable, overwhelmed by the enormity of the task ahead of her.

Had he felt this way, after his first battle? He thought back, past Kirkwall, to the Blight. The fallen bodies of his fellow Templars, the metallic tang of Blood Magic and ashes swirling in the air as the mages became abominations. Fighting demons, he had been trained for it, raised to it by the Order. There was a sense of rightness, even amongst the terror, at least to begin with, before everything went so badly. But she had not been trained for this. In the Circle, she wouldn’t have been taught to unleash her magic but to squash it down, lock it up, even fear it. Not let it loose, full force, in the face of an Archdemon. No wonder she was afraid.

Slowly, he lifted her hand to his mouth, uncurled her clenched fingers, and pressed his lips to her palm. The anchor felt hot against his skin, and she made a little mewling sound of surprise at his touch. The sound twisted inside of him and he felt a sudden flare of compassion mingled with forthright desire. She moved against him, gentle but insistent.

‘Kiss me,’ she whispered. ‘Please.’

Knowing he shouldn’t, unable to refuse, he bent to her upturned face and kissed her. Her mouth was soft under his, melting, yielding at she parted her lips to him. He swept his tongue across hers, tasting the salt of her tears. She clutched at him, her hand gripping against the rough spun edge of his shirt. He traced her jaw, trailed his fingers through her hair, around the delicate curve of her ears. He should stop, this was impossible, but she was kissing him back, furiously, as though she was trying to lose herself, surrender herself entirely to this whirl of touch and feeling. He pressed his mouth to her neck, felt the leap of her pulse under his tongue. At the scrape of his teeth against her sensitive skin, she gasped, and he drew back. He could feel her beside him, suddenly tensed, tight as a coiled spring. In the dark, he could see the glisten of her eyes, but could not discern her expression. He cupped her cheeks and pressed his forehead to hers, his breath ragged and unsteady.

‘Forgive me,’ he said softly, moving away. He wondered what had frightened her, hating the thought that anything in his touch had given her pause. There was a rustle as she shook her head, brushing away his apology. Lilibet drew a long, shuddering breath and reached for him with a tentative hand. Gently, he circled his arms around her, settling her against his shoulder as she began to sob again.

‘You’re safe now,’ he told her. A lie, he knew, they were all so very far from safe. But perhaps now, in his arms, she could be safe, at least for a moment. Tenderly, he brushed back a loose strand of hair from her damp cheek. She sniffled, wiping her nose on the edge of the blanket. With a sigh, she curled against him, and soon her breathing began to deepen. Asleep. It felt so strange to have someone sleeping beside him like this. To trust him enough to relax so completely. Instinctively, he tightened his arms around her. She was so… small, to carry such a burden.

She was warm in his arms, her cheek soft where it snuggled against his chest.

 _You’re her Commander,_ he told himself. _This is no different from supporting her in battle. You’re just giving her what she needs right now… including the kiss. This doesn’t mean that she wants you. This doesn’t mean anything_.

But he couldn’t resist briefly touching his nose against her hair, inhaling softly. He pictured the leaves as they turned russet and crimson with the cooling of the seasons.

He knew he should leave. There were so many reasons why spending the night beside her was a bad idea. Aside from how it would look in the morning… he thought of the nightmares that had long plagued him, intensified since Kirkwall. He couldn’t fall asleep beside her and risk one of those dreams. He shifted slightly, and she made a soft noise. Her slender hand found his and, still asleep, she twined her fingers through his.

 _Just another moment_ , he thought, softening slightly into the shared warmth of their bodies. In the morning, she would tie up her hair and lift her staff to her shoulder, then march; guiding them as they continued their march through the mountains, towards their new home. Already, she was beginning to move like a leader. 

* * *

 The next morning, she climbed atop the battlements of the newly claimed fortress, Skyhold. She had combed the tangles from her hair and pinned it up, the long braid now a coiled weight on the top of her head, her neck strangely bare. Someone had found her clean clothes to replace the muddy robes; beige trousers and a slim fitting shirt. On anyone else the outfit would have been plain, but somehow the simple garments gave her an understated elegance. She had looked almost regal as she accepted the sword, accepted the title of Inquisitor, accepted responsibility and burden for all of them. And he had cheered with them all, the massed crowd she had led out from Haven into this mysterious cloud-top place. There was no hesitation in her face as she closed her eyes, bowing forward, perhaps in acknowledgement of Andraste or the Maker or whatever higher power had directed her to this point in time. Around the hilt of the sword, he thought he saw her hand tremble, but perhaps it was just the sun shimmering on the snow, tricking his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to anyone who has read this far! This is my first attempt at fanfic and I hope I did okay. I'd love to hear from anyone who enjoyed the story (please be gentle with criticism! I tried my best with canon but did use some artistic licence). I really hope someone enjoys reading about my dorky freckly Inquisitor Lilibet as much as I enjoyed writing about her <3
> 
> I have a rough draft of this written to cover events up to Trespasser, so I will endeavour to polish and post more chapters as I have time, if anyone wants to read them.
> 
> Thank you again for reading! <3 <3 <3


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